


Of All The Gin Joints

by Jezzax_j



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Adoption, Patrick is such a dad tho, patrick stump - Freeform, tagging as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezzax_j/pseuds/Jezzax_j
Summary: Emery had a rough few years; with the death of her mother taking a toll on her mental health. She spent years failing to find someone she could call family. Until she walks into an interview and finds Patrick Stump sitting reading her personal file.





	1. Chapter 1

I lay on my bunk, facing the wall, throwing a stress ball against it. The nerves were starting to build up again, they always did before interviews. I don’t know why I felt so nervous every time, the outcomes were always the same. I’d walk into a room to see a happy couple, I’d sit down; they’d ask their questions, and I’d give them answers. I’d leave and a few hours later someone from the offices would tell me they said no. On very rare occasions I would be invited to spend a week or two with them, to see how we all got along. But that always ended the same; I had no sooner unpacked when I was told it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ and I was sent straight back to the Home.

It’s not my fault I’m different from other people my age, I mean I didn’t ask to be this way, nor did I ask to be treated as such. People see the words ‘depression, anxiety, self-harm’ written in my file and almost run away screaming. Depression ran in my family, it was the reason I was stuck in this shithole of an adoption centre. The anxiety didn’t start until after my mom killed herself, I was terrified of being alone and the events surrounding her death became too much to cope with. But I was always that one ‘emo’ kid in school, who everyone thought was a total freak. The bullying started from day one, starting small, like dirty looks and laughter behind my back. But by sophomore year it became more frequent. Students and teachers alike joking about whether or not I ‘cut my wrists’ or punk ass kids following me home, shouting abuse and throwing stones at my window. But I only had one more year until I could go to college, and get my own place and finally meet people who were a bit more like me.

I heard a knock on the door and sat up, one of the social workers stepped inside and called my name, “Emery, you ready?” I didn’t bother to learn names anymore. The staff changed as much as the kids, by the time you remembered who they were they had usually left. I climbed down from by bunk and followed her out of the room, my breath becoming more and more irregular as we descended the stairs. I always tried not to psych myself out, I knew every interview was always going to end the same way, but for some reason I still held on to this inkling of hope that maybe this one will be different; maybe today they’ll actually like me.

I was led to the house offices, where we stopped outside one of the interview rooms. The social worker whispered good luck as she opened the door and led me in. Closing the door behind me I looked at the man sitting at the table and took a step back, my eyes widening.

Patrick Stump was sitting awkwardly on the chair behind the desk, his jacket lying atop the table with a fedora placed neatly beside. He smiled and stood up, moving around to face me.

“Hi there,” he extended his hand, “you must be Emery.”

I took his hand and shook it. This had to be a joke right? Someone must think this a hilarious sort of prank to play.

“Um...Yes. Hi there.” I replied, a confused look on my face. How the fuck am I supposed to process this?

“I’m Patrick,” he mentioned as he pulled a chair out for me to sit on.

“Oh Right yeah sorry,” I shook my head, bringing my thoughts back to me, “I already know who you are. I actually saw your band perform a few years ago.”

“Oh really? That’s cool.” He sat down on his own chair. It was then I noticed my file in front of him. Was this actually legit?

“Forgive me for asking the first question,” I blurted out, “But what’s actually happening here? I feel like someone’s about to walk through the door saying ‘ha-ha loser good prank guys’ or something.”

Patrick looked at you with a puzzled expression. It was only natural you questioned everyone and their motives. You spent years not being able to trust people, especially in school, people’s kindness usually had malicious intent somewhere down the line.

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” he half laughed, “I mean I’m hardly going to walk into an adoption centre looking for a haircut am I?”

I laughed. “Yeah, I mean but I’m sitting here in front of a guy whose band poster used to be inside my locker and he’s telling me he’s looking to adopt a kid, potentially me. In my head that sounds almost impossible.”

He leaned back in his chair, ruffling his fringe with his hand. “Okay yeah when you put it like that. But in all seriousness, this is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time now. I mean I don’t have kids and I don’t know if I ever will, and I thought that if I was able to find one person out there, yanno, one kid who deserves all the shit they’ve gone through to be taken away from them, to be able to have all the chances that were denied to them and to be happy again, like properly happy, then I want to be the person who makes that happen.”

I couldn’t form words. Was he being serious? My head was starting to spin. So Patrick Stump, the lead singer of a band I literally cried over when I saw them in concert, is sitting right in front of me seriously considering adoption?

“But why me?” I asked.

“Well why not?” was his reply, his mouth curling to form a smile one more. He had a beautiful smile, “Listen Emery, I’ve read your file and I haven’t feel so sad for someone in a long time. I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened to you; your school, your mom, nobody deserves any of that to happen to them. The more I read, the more I was reminded of people I knew, and heck, I kept seeing images of me when I was younger. You seem like a great and genuine kid.”

I felt my eyes starting to swell, Patrick immediately reached his hand across the table, a brief look of panic brushing across his face, “Oh shit sorry Emery, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No it’s okay,” I smiled, brushing the tears off my cheek with my sleeve, “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say something that nice and sound so genuine before.”

He rested his hand against my arm, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

He started asking me questions after that. What subjects I enjoyed, what hobbies I was interested in. He was probably the only person I’ve ever spoken to who took an interest in the answers I gave. We talked about bands, movies, video games, books; I had more in common with the man than I would have ever guessed. For those fifteen minutes I had never felt more comfortable around another person since my mom was alive.

We probably could have sat there all day talking and laughing, but there was a long list of other interviews for different kids and different parents, so we were forced to cut the conversation short after fifteen minutes.

We both stood as the door opened, a different social worker looking in reminding us it was time to leave. Patrick pulled his jacket on and placed his fedora atop his head before turning round to shake my hand yet again.

“Emery it was a pleasure to meet you.” I smiled widely at him as I took hold of his hand.

“Likewise Patrick,” I replied, “good luck with your search.”

He winked at me before I turned and walked out the door, placing a gentle hand on the wall to steady myself as I made my way back upstairs. The feeling of disbelief washed over me as I replayed the previous half hour over and over in my head. Patrick Stump, the lead singer of one of the world’s biggest bands, is looking to adopt and for some fucked up reason I’m a serious candidate? Sounds a little too good to be true. But still, what if? What if this is the reason I’ve been stuck here for so many years? Maybe it was the world telling me something better was coming along.

The interview was all I thought about for the following few days, I could picture Patrick’s face every time he smiled and laughed. Every question he asked replayed over in my head, the look on his face as he listened and took in everything I said. It was five days later I was called back downstairs to the adoption offices, led into the office of yet another woman I didn’t know the name of, who motioned for me to sit down on the couch before returning to her desk.

“Emery, I am pleased to tell you some wonderful news,” she began, my heart starting to race. Could it be possible?

“You remember the interview you had with Mr. Stump? Well after extensive discussions between myself and him, we believe it would be a workable situation to place you under short term foster care with Mr. Stump, with the possibility of an extension if everything works out for the best.”

Holy fucking shit. Was I hearing this right? He wanted me? Like out of every teenager in this God damn country, he has sat down and thought ‘yeah I’d adopt her’; the depressed emo kid who spends her says listening to punk rock and playing video games. In what world would this be possible?

I felt tears falling down my face as I laughed in disbelief, “Are you serious?”

The lady in front of me smiled, “Yes Emery. I don’t know what you said to him, but from the moment your interview was over, he seemed very adamant that he was going to sign off on these papers.”

“That’s fucking craz- oh sorry language.” I said, still laughing.

“It’s okay,” the social worker said, before standing up, “This is a huge moment for you.”

She moved towards the door, I followed her,

“We have some paperwork to fill in between myself and Mr. Stump, but if you would like to go back to your room and pack up some of your stuff, you can meet up in the foyer in half an hour.”

I don’t think I ever ran up a set of stairs faster in my entire life. What the fuck was actually happening. This was it. This was the beginning of the rest of my life. And I was spending it with a fucking rock star.

 


	2. The Move

It didn’t take me long to pack, I didn’t have much with me anyway. Most of my belongings and clothes I threw out when I had to leave home. Anything my mum bought or touched went straight to the thrift shop; I knew if I tried to keep everything with me I would just miss her too much. She was gone and as much as I wanted her back I knew there was no sense in keeping too many mementos.

Everything fit into one large case; my clothes, books, CDs and records I didn’t even have a player for, my notebooks and family photo album. I trudged the case down stairs to the foyer where Patrick was sitting and timidly walked up to him. He stood and smiled at me, shaking my hand again.

“Hey Emery, how’s things?” He asked.

“G-great” I stuttered, my heart fluttering as I tried to process everything that was happening. Standing before him felt so surreal.

We had a few papers to sign off on before we could leave, legal stuff and agreements on our situation that it was only temporary and that if we were to continue the foster situation long term there would have to be other assessments etc. He took my bag and wheeled it outside, setting it into the trunk of the car as I opened the passenger door and put my backpack at my feet.

I don’t know why we sat in awkward silence for so long, but we must have been about half way to his house before he started speaking.

“I’m not going to lie to you I’ve been terrified about this whole thing yanno,” he began, gripping the wheel tighter, “Not in a bad way because on one hand I’m really excited about this, it’s a new chapter and I think it will be great for both of us. But on the other hand I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing and I’ve been sitting all week thinking ‘what if she doesn’t like me’ or ‘how the hell am I supposed to look after a teenager when I forget to look after myself’”.

I started laughing. Thank fuck I thought to myself, he’s as scared as I am about this whole ordeal. I mean I was so excited to be getting out of the Home and by none other than Patrick Stump, but at the same time, every other foster session I’ve had to go through has ended with me packing my bags and retuning to the same bunk bed I spent 4 years sleeping in.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“Because,” I smiled, “I’m scared shitless too. Sorry – I don’t meant to swear. What I mean is, every time I thought I was getting out of that place, every time some happy family would say I’d be perfect for them, it wouldn’t last. I’d spend one week, maybe two with them, and then it was straight back to the Home. And I guess in my head I’m expecting that to happen again.”

He took a hand off the wheel and placed it across mine, which by now were fidgeting with a wristband on my lap.

“Well I don’t know about you, but right now I don’t want that to happen. So let’s take everything one day at a time and we’ll see how it goes. Okay?”

I smiled and nodded. He took his hand away from mine and fumbled with the radio, turning on a local channel I wasn’t familiar with.

It was another thirty minutes before we reached his house, I stared out the passenger window as we pulled up outside a large townhouse. I don’t think I had stayed anywhere quite like it before, not with any other foster families anyway. I marvelled at the old red brick façade as the car engine stopped.

“I mean it’s a bit excessive for a bachelor pad I know, but it’s got a roof top with a killer view of the city.”

“No it looks perfect,” I replied as we got out of the car and entered the house, Patrick lifting my bag up the steps and opening the front door.

It felt like a set straight out of a movie; old wooden floors and crisp, clean smell about it. Nothing like the way I would picture the house of a rock star. We walked straight from the entrance hall into the kitchen, where Patrick threw his keys across the countertop. Adjoining the room was a sitting area where he must spend most of his time; it was littered with magazines and video games. A large TV stood on the far wall atop of several gaming consoles. Several acoustic guitars hung low on the wall, framing the room. There was a bookshelf of a mixture of CDs, DVDs and novels. It felt like home.

“Yeah I mean to clean in there,” he mentioned, noticing my gawking expression.

“It looks great. Your home is so beautiful.”

He laughed, “My mom actually had a large input in the décor to be honest. She didn’t trust me to do it all myself. But don’t tell anyone that or you’ll ruin my reputation. Do you want to see your room?”

I nodded as he started giving me a tour of the house as we ascended two flights of stairs, pointing out the bathroom, his room, another spare bedroom, a music room with some of their old recording equipment.

“Okay so I didn’t really know what to do with this room, since I don’t really know what you’re into and all yanno,” he opened the door and led you inside, “but I figured that when you’re settled we could go out to Ikea or somewhere and pick up a bunch of stuff.”

The room was double the size of what you slept in at the Home, and even then you shared it with 5 other people. It was large and open planned, a double bed pressed against the wall and a desk beneath the window, a walk in wardrobe faced the wall opposite the door and beside it an ensuite bathroom.

“I feel like it’s Christmas or something,” I said, walking into the room, “Like there’s no way I deserve this.”

He said nothing, just smiled at me as I walked over and opened the bathroom door to see a large tub and shower. I hadn’t had a bath in so long. There was a basket of soaps, bubble baths, and shampoos sitting at the edge of the bath too, which was favourable since I didn’t think about taking any toiletries with me earlier that day.

“I’m going to go and bring your bag up do you can unpack, and then we can see about getting something to eat, sound good?”

He left my case in the doorway and returned down the stairs. I pulled it to the middle of the room and opened it up, placed my clothes into the closet and marvelled at how little space they actually filled. There was no bookcase, so the few books I brought with me took up residence on the floor at the foot of the bed. I went into the bathroom to hang up an old towel and throw my makeup bag onto the counter.

The one thing I actually liked about my bunk at the Home was the fact it was closer to the ceiling, so there was room to customise my space. I kept tons of small posters ripped out from magazines and filled as much space on the wall around my bunk as I could of images of bands and singers, of video games I never played, adverts for books I wanted to read; the rest were kept in a box in the locker each person had for their belongings and affects. I took them out of a box, along with a small wad of Blutack and started arranging them on the wall between the bed and the desk like a mural. My Chemical Romance, Green Day, Escape The Fate, Bring Me The Horizon, Welcome to Night Vale; I snuck a Fall Out Boy one in too, half covered by a Warped Tour flyer.

I set my old laptop on the desk, alongside a photo of my mom and me when I was ten; it was our first and only trip to Disney World, and the two of us were standing in front of Cinderella’s castle, with matching Minnie Mouse ears and balloons. She always talked about how we would go again when I finished High School, how we could go for Christmas and watch the New Year roll in in front of the castle, but I guess that was too good to be true.

I made a mental note of things I’d like for the room if Patrick did decide to do this Ikea trip; a bookcase, a corkboard, some small plants for the window sill, a desk lamp. I tried not to focus on making the room too comfortable, I mean I could be out of here in a week I just don’t know.

Sighing I closed up my suitcase and threw it in the back of the closet, my stomach beginning to burble as I closed the sliding doors. I didn’t realise how hungry I was, maybe it was the nerves. I looked at the time on my phone. 6:35pm, it was later than I thought. I left the room and made my way down the stairs, wondering what the first of hopefully many dinners with Patrick would be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll with this story at the moment so I'm going to update as regularly as I can before writers block kicks in.   
> Still not 100% sure on the direction I want to take it in, and I feel like the writing could be a lot better but we'll see how it does.   
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	3. The first supper

“Hey,” Patrick turned towards me as I stepped into the kitchen, “I was just about to come upstairs and find you. Does pizza sound good for dinner?”

“Pizza sounds fantastic for dinner!” I replied. Stepping further into the kitchen, “Do you mind if I grab a glass of water?”

“Oh shit yeah, here,” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass, “Remind me to take you on a proper tour of the house tomorrow and show you where everything is.”

I ran the tap and filled the glass, before moving over to the lounge and sitting down on the sofa. It felt so surreal being here I honestly didn’t know what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to act. Other families I stayed with usually had kids, so I was often forced to go through the ordeal of trying to make friends with them. Patrick’s head was buried in his phone as he made his way over towards me and sat down, placing the phone on the arm rest and turning to look at me.

“I know this day has probably been absolutely crazy for you, I mean it still feels sort of surreal for me, but I was wondering if you would be okay with me bringing the guys over for dinner tonight?”

He panicked as he saw my eyes widen. As if this day couldn’t get any more fantastical, “Fuck I mean that’s probably not a good idea, right? You’ve gone through enough today and I’m sure the last thing you need are my idiot band mates over asking you a million questions.”

“No no,” I interrupted him, “That would be awesome sure. We can have a pizza party.” I smiled. My head wanted to explode trying to take in all this information.

“Awesome,” Patrick smiled. He picked up his phone and began typing frantically, “Any preferences on toppings?”

“As long as it’s not Hawaiian I’m easy” I laughed.

“Good good, okay so then Joe’s going to pick Andy up, and then Pete’s gonna get the pizzas and meet us here in about thirty.”

He said that so casual like. Oh hey, I’m just happening to invite my friends over who happen to play in a Grammy nominated band with me, no big deal, we’re just gonna eat pizza. I guess that was something I was going to have to get used to whilst I was here. We’re from two different worlds Patrick and I. I mean sure we probably had similar experiences growing up, but he turned out to be a music genius, and I became the emo orphan Annie. Such a combination usually doesn’t mix. Part of me didn’t want to admit that, the other part tried to enforce it. Sure this was going to be a great experience, but would it last?

We talked to pass the time, my hands were beginning to shake as the clock on the wall ticked on. I always did get nervous when it came to meeting new people. Even as a child, I used to hide behind my mom’s legs when she tried to make me say hello to her friends or their kids. As I got older I feared the judgment of new acquaintances, focusing too much on what was probably going on in their heads what they saw a small kid dressed all in black with every changing facial piercings and often a bandage of both arms.

“So do you play video games?” Patrick asked as he followed my gaze to the consoles below the TV.

“Not at all,” I shook my head, “I mean my mom never let me play them when I younger. She used to read all these stories about how they would turn people into like violent serial killers or something. And I moved into the Home when I was 14 so that transition was big enough for me so I had no real interest back then.”

He didn’t say anything but nodded his head. I wasn’t actually sure how much he actually knew about my background. I mean he would have known I moved into the adoption center when I was 14 and I was there almost 4 years, the causing being the death of my mother. That’s what everyone knew when they were considering me as a foster or adoption candidate, but I was never sure if they ever really knew about why my mother killed herself and how.

“Cool,” he finally said, “Not like cool that you’ve never played any video games. But it’s basically all I do when I have free time so you’ll have the chance to play whatever if you want. The guys and I spend most nights gaming or watching movies so you’re free to join us if and whenever.”

He started showing me through different games he had, telling me their basic plots and if they were any good. The doorbell rang and both of jumped up, the looks on our faces couldn’t have been any more different. My palms started sweating and I could feel a headache coming on as Patrick left the room to open the door. I could hear their voices as I walked into the kitchen, holding onto the island counter to keep my balance, _baby steps Emery. It’ll be cool. They’re just people._

Four figures walked into the kitchen, each carrying various takeout boxes and setting them on the counters. Patrick walked towards me as I focused on the other band mates standing opposite me.

“Guys I wanna introduce you to Emery. Emery, this is Pete, Joe, and Andy.” Joe stood forward first and shook my hand, giving me a wink as he moved on into the kitchen to grab plates. Andy did the same, both probably feeling as awkward as I did. I mean from their perspective it would have been a little strange. Being introduced to a 17-year-old girl who your best friend is suddenly like, responsible for.

Pete walked forward and to my surprise pulled me into a hug. I smiled, returning the embrace. “This is probably going to be awkward for a while, but give it some time. We’re all super stoked to meet you I swear.”

I smiled as we pulled away, our attention turning to the open boxes of pizza on the island. “You’ll learn that pizza is a stretch or starve situation with us, take whatever you want now or there’s a ninety percent chance Joe will eat it on you.”

“Hey fuck up will ya,” Joe mumbled, his mouth already filled with food, “I swear I’m not some pizza stealing goon. Just don’t touch Andy’s or he /will/ murder you.”

“It’s true,” Andy replied, “Touch my pizza and you die.”

I laughed. Vegan. Forgot about that.

We all grabbed various slices of pizza and made our way over to the sitting room. I sat at the edge of the sofa, trying to take up as little room as possible. I felt so out of place, sitting here while thirty-something best friends of like twenty years hung out. If I came back in ten years maybe it would seem a little more normal. But I guess this is going to become the new normal, I’ll get used to it. Maybe.

Patrick sat at the other side of the sofa, Joe and Andy take residence on two bean bags across from me. Pete walked in front of us, waving a small blue box in our faces.

“I’m about to transport you all back to 2001 with this bad boy.” I focused on the cover, _Crash Bandicoot Remastered._

“Shit son,” Joe exclaimed, “That isn’t even released yet. How’d you manage that?”

“Oh I have my ways,” Pete replied, inserting the disk and throwing controllers to Joe and Andy before landing himself onto the sofa in between me and Patrick. He handed me one.

“Oh,” I put my hand to my mouth, trying to swallow my food as fast I could. “I’m okay. I don’t even know what this is let alone how to play it.”

“This my friend,” Andy began, “Is Crash Bandicoot. An absolute staple for nerds everywhere in the early 2000’s. Total classic.”

I shrugged as Pete placed the controller into my hand, “Don’t worry kid. It’s super easy, here.”

It was then I discovered one thing. I sucked at playing video games. I hadn’t a clue what I doing, and as competitive as I was I was leagues behind the skills of the boys around me. It was fun, though. It felt normal. Joe did a football style victory lap around the room every time he came first, until the one and only time I beat him on Nitro Cart racing by 3 seconds and he began to throw a tantrum, resulting in my pizza crusts being flung at his face. Everyone doubled up laughing. I felt happy.

I helped Patrick bring the plates and empty glasses back into the kitchen, leaving the others to fight over which movie to watch. I opened and closed half of the cupboards in the room in an attempt to find a mug before making myself some tea.

“Hey,” Patrick asked me, as I grabbed milk out of the fridge, “Are you doing okay? This isn’t too much for you for one day or anything? Because I can tell the guys to leave if it’s getting too stressful.”

“No no, I’m fine. It’s actually been fun tonight.” I smiled. I was getting tired, however. It had been a long day and it felt like so much had happened in such a small period of time. Sleep would have been great.

We returned to the living room, sitting down beside each other as Andy put Beetlejuice into the DVR. I hadn’t seen this movie in years. Every weekend my mom and I would have sat in the dark and watched movies until we fell asleep. Each week it was a different theme; Disney, classic horror, Tim Burton, musicals, bad eighties films; you name it, we probably watched it.

I pulled my knees to my chest, my feet curling round the edge of the sofa as I drank my tea. It was weird how much you subtly learn about people while you’re watching a movie together. Joe likes to talk and give commentary and random facts. Andy can’t stand it when people talk during movies and kept hitting him around the head. Pete was able to quote this movie more than should be possible, and I wondered how many times he had actually seen it. Patrick was pretty silent the whole time. Probably as mentally exhausted as I was. This must have been strange for him too. I mean it’s a big decision to bring anyone into your life like this, and an almost full-time commitment, not many people in the world could have the heart to do what he did.

I could feel my eyes becoming weaker and weaker as the film progressed, struggling to keep themselves open as I adjusted my body so I was gently leaning against the man beside me. Glancing up when he didn’t move, I noticed his head was bowed, eyes shut with glasses fallen slightly forward. I smiled. He did look adorable when he was asleep. Yawning I rested my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes.

“You seriously need to shut up you fucker,” I heard Andy’s voice from across the room.

“Jesus Christ stop hitting me man. I’ll fucking cut your hands off.” I smiled to myself as I could feel my body drifting off to sleep. So this was day one and it was probably the best day of my life. Maybe this will be okay after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all my spelling mistakes by the way. I usually don't notice them until ages after I upload things.


	4. Scars, Sitcoms, and Swedish Shelving

It was amazing how quickly I managed to settle into a routine. It felt like I was back at my own home again. I felt comfortable here; I’d only moved in a few days ago yet it felt like I could have been here for years. Patrick and I were still giving each other plenty of space, till trying to figure out how we would work around one another. It was a big learning process for him, the concept of being responsible for another being was clearly alien to him. But he was coping well thus far. The first two mornings he made breakfast, before taking take me around the neighbourhood, helping me get my bearings. I had never been this far uptown before, unless I happened to be driving out of town or passing through on a school trip. I never had a reason to before.

“So I was thinking,” Patrick began one morning, sliding a plate of pancakes over to me, “we could take a trip up to Ikea later, I know that room looks a little bare.”

“That would be cool. But I don’t want to put you out or anything. That shit – sorry language, I mean, I don’t want you spending money on me or anything, seriously.”

He smiled and placing both hands on the counter, facing me, “Emery c’mon, let me do this for you. I don’t want you spending your time in an empty bedroom. Plus if you keep those books on the floor they’ll get ruined.

“I want you to treat this place like it’s your Em, because I mean it sort of is now. I know you’re worried about this only being temporary or whatever, but for now, and hopefully for a long time, you’re stuck with me so please indulge me, while I try and get this whole guardian-parenting thing right.”

I laughed, filling my mouth with another forkful of pancake. He had a point, I was stuck with him, although stuck wouldn’t exactly be my word of choice. He probably put more effort into this relationship than any other adult I had fostered with. With other families I was the one expected to put in all the effort, to try and act like this model kid that somebody would die to have. But this was unlike anything I had experienced before. I could be myself around Patrick. He didn’t mind if I put my feet on the couch or left an unwashed plate in the sink or played music too loudly from my room, because Patrick was exactly the same. He liked to sing while he was cooking, and left a row of shoes along the hallway.

“I think Joe and Andy are gonna join us if that’s okay? Joe like to stock pile cinnamon rolls every chance he gets.” I nodded. I was going to have to get used to being around Patrick’s friend. They were all basically joined at the hip. Which was fine with me so long as my anxiety didn’t decide to think otherwise.

Joe picked us up in a navy SUV, shouting something about cinnamon rolls as we drove off.

I felt like I was babysitting a couple of rowdy twelve-year-olds. Patrick and Joe acted like they were on a playground, not a furniture store. At one point they actually chased each other round the sofas, jumping over them, and almost running into customers. I held back with Andy, as we watched the two in a sample apartment, talking to each other as though they were an old married couple.

“They watched a video series on You Tube where these people created a soap opera inside an Ikea store, and they think they’re being hilarious by recreating it every time they’re here.”

Andy was probably the only useful person that day too, helping me pick out an armchair to sit in the corner of my room, and a half-sized bookcase which meant I could have room for some shelving, we also spotted a desk lamp that looked like the one from the Pixar intros. Patrick helped too, of course, making a list of what we settled on and their isle numbers so we could pick them up later, all this in between making pretend dinners for Joe.

“Why the fuck am I the housewife here?!” he exclaimed, as we descended the stairs to pick up our items.

“Because you look the best in a skirt,” Andy remarked.

“Yeah, your mom thought so too.” Came a childish reply as you burst into fits of giggles.

Joe ran screaming for cinnamon rolls as Patrick paid for your items, retuning with handfuls of frozen bags.

“What’s the deal with these cinnamon rolls then?” I asked, as he almost threw them at the cashier.

“Kid, if I could only eat one item of food for the rest of my life, it would be these freakin cinnamon rolls. Don’t ask why it just would be.”

Andy and Joe left us back at Patrick's house, helping us unload the flat pack boxes before driving off.

“Until next time my darling wife!” Joe shouted through the window, cackling as Patrick responded with a middle finger.

If trying to haul heavy boxes up two flights of stairs wasn’t difficult enough, actually trying to build the fricken things was even worse. The minimalist instructions were absolutely no help at all when every piece looked the same. You put your iTunes playlist on shuffle to lighten the atmosphere as you both tried to organise the piles of wood and metal screws.

“Who the heck thought these were a good idea, huh?” Patrick grumbled as he fit the backboard to the almost constructed bookcase.

“Well, they’re a true test of patience that’s for sure,” I replied, placing a hand on the underside as we lifted it, moving it to the far side of the room.

“Good bonding activity I’m – FUCKING HELL!” My side of the bookcase slipped from my hand, trapping my fingers between it and the floor. I pulled my hand out, a burning pain shooting from my fingers as I waved it frantically.

“Shit Em, are you okay?” Patrick panicked, grabbing my hand.

“Yeah, just lost my grip there. Fuck that hurt. Sorry for swearing.”

The nail on my ring finger was already turning black, blood beginning to seep out from around it. Fucking great. My no accident streak lasted four whole days. I raised my hand, allowing the blood to run down my hand rather than hitting the floor.

“I have a first aid kit downstairs, come on,” Patrick said, his voice vibrating. I don’t think he ever had to deal with something like this before. On the road with his friends probably, but not with someone he’s supposed to be caring for. I followed him down to the kitchen, grabbing a piece of kitchen roll, putting pressure on my hand as he took a box out from under the kitchen sink.

“Okay fuck so like, what the fuck do I do about this?” He sounded flustered.

“Chill it’s okay,” I replied, trying to reassure him. It wasn’t serious. My nail would be black until it grew out but I could live with that. “Just give me one of those alcohol wipes and see if you have any band-aids.”

Nodding, he handed me the tissue as I cleaned the blood as best as I could, before wrapping my finger in a large plaster.

“There we go I smiled. No harm done. Sorry if I freaked you out.”

He sighed deeply, smiling, “Good. I didn’t mean to freak out. I’m just not good with injury and all that. Still learning this whole caring thing yanno.”

“Well, no limbs were lost so I’d still call this experience a success.” I laughed, holding my arms up and twisting them around.

Patrick's face turned very serious as he grabbed one of my wrists, turning it to expose a series of small white scars littered from wrist to elbow crease. Fuck, here we go. I had gotten so good at hiding them too, learning how to move my body and in a way that would never expose them. It was a nice experience while it lasted I guess; so many people sent me back after they discovered the self-harm, concerned that I might influence their own kids or something. After a while, it was added to my personal file along-side the depression and anxiety disorder. The number of interviews I had declined rapidly from then on.

“Did you do these Emery?” He gasped a streak of concern and pain in his voice.

I nodded. I felt horrible. I should have told him before. I mean it was on my file so of course, he knew, but I don’t think anyone assumes it would have been as bad as it was.

He pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I melted into him, my arms moving around his waist. He held me like this for a long time before I felt his voice whisper into my ear.

“I’m sorry. I’m really freakin' sorry.” I could feel tears filling up my eyes. No one had looked at my scars before and shown empathy. They usually looked at me like I was suddenly a danger or a mental case. I squeezed my arms around him, smiling into his shoulder.

“They’re not recent so try not to worry,” I said when we broke apart. “I’m getting better I promise.”

 “I’m going to worry whether you want me to or not,” he replied, placing his hands on my shoulders, “I’m sorry that ever happened to you, Emery. I’m sorry you ever felt so low.”

Tears began falling along my cheek as he wiped them away with his thumb, “thanks,” I sniffed, “when my mom, you know…it was just hard to cope with. I didn’t really have anybody after that, and it just became too much.”

He hugged me again, “I can’t even imagine how hard that much have been Em. But listen, I’m here for you now kid. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I got your back okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered. Speechless.

“But hey come on,” He nudged my shoulder, “We’ve still got these demon shelves to attack to the wall. Ten bucks says one of us will end up in the ER after this.”

We laughed as we moved out of the room. It felt nice being around someone who cared. Patrick was too damn nice for his own good. People like him don’t come around very often so God knows what the hell I did deserve this chapter of my life.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how long this is going to be, but I promise you all I will continue it as best I can.  
> I'm not a fan of writing in this POV but we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


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